


Violet, Lilac, Wisteria, Amethyst

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Demon Asra, F/M, M/M, Other, an adventure in soulmates, and getting wicked revenge on the asshole who bought you for their eldest child, gender neutral reader, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: In twelve hours, you are to be wedded off to a person you do not love to please a family who do not care for your safety. A demon by the name of Asra answers your cry for help and is willing to make a bargain, but what you are given instead is a soulmate and a chance for revenge against those who have wronged you.
Relationships: Asra Alnazar/Apprentice, Asra Alnazar/Reader, Asra/Apprentice, Asra/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 251





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and published on my Tumblr [@vesuviannights](http://vesuviannights.tumblr.com). The Demonverse and Demon Asra has become a fan favourite, and all information (including follower questions and both sfw/nsfw headcanons) can be found [HERE](http://vesuviannights.tumblr.com/tagged/demonverse).

In just twelve short hours, you are to be wed.

The bells will toll, the people will cheer, and the last piece of your raging soul will be trodden into the ground by the approving looks of those you once held dear.

Because you know none of it is for you. This engagement, this marriage, this life set out for you is not of your design. It is only to please those in power, and to give your partner-to-be more of it, and you have caught yourself more times than you can count just wondering if any part of who you were would contribute to your partner’s happiness, or if it were all merely a cosmic joke.

You have tried many times for freedom, for even an ounce of control. Every frustrated cry, every attempt at a bargain you have thrown out into the universe: they have all fallen on deaf ears.

The Gods, the wind, the magical realms: they do not wish to hear you.

In the witching hour you are on your knees, surrounded by herbs and bloodied marks and chalk outlines on the floor of your shop.

Waiting, always waiting, the seconds ticking by as you watch the space where the magical being you have summoned is to appear.

But they do not.

You growl. You scream. You lash out at the nearest things and send them scattering around you in a fit of quickly collapsing rage.

And then: a voice from behind you.

“I have always enjoyed the fiery passion of the human race.”

You turn. It’s…you don’t know what. But he is the most beautiful being you have ever seen, in all your years of traveling the world.

High cheekbones kissed by golden skin. Plumes of white hair that fall into his deep violet eyes which, even half-obscured, seem to shift in hue as they take you in. Two sleek horns curve back from his hairline, and you can spy a flicking obsidian tail with an iridescent spike at the end that seems to shift along with his eyes.

He is watching you with an inscrutable gaze, arms folded as he leans against the frame just in front of your very closed, very _locked_ shop door.

You swallow and stand, feigning your boldness. “How did you get in here?”

He just smiles at you.

You shift on your feet and take a step closer. “I asked you a question!”

“And I don’t suffer questions the answers to which are already known.”

You hesitate. Your eyes scatter over him once more, before slowly, very slowly…

…going to the array of magical items at your feet.

The corners of his lips flick up. “There we go.”

“You’re not the Arcana I summoned.”

“Actually, you’ll find I’m not any of them.”

“Then how did you—?”

He steps further into the room, eyes traveling over the items placed out for sale. He plays with a few of the nearby trinkets as he walks, nimble fingers glancing over them as he answers you.

“I’ve been known sometimes to intercept messages from mortals that… _pique_ my curiosity.”

He stops in front of one of your many shelves, lined with herbs and powdered flowers and every other manner of ingredient.

You bite down on your tongue when he begins picking up bottles, reading the labels and giving indecipherable _hmmms_ as he places them back. When he picks up a particularly expensive and rare one, you take an emboldened step forward.

“If you break it, you buy it,” you snap.

This brings his attention back to you. He turns to glance you over his shoulder, his eyes a new shade—lilac, you think—as his lips curve into a smile.

He places the bottle in question back, then with a slow drag of his eyes down to your balled fists, he continues his perusal of your shop.

“I would rather you leave,” you tell him, watching as he approaches your collection of tomes and novels. He fingers the spine of a forest green one, the words inlaid in a bright gold. “I was actually busy before you barged in here. Uninvited, might I add.”

“Oh, I’m never uninvited, cherub,” he answers.

Your cheeks heat at the name, an angry flush that you quickly cover by turning away and beginning to gather your things.

“Well, you were this time,” you mutter angrily under your breath.

Your fingers fumble on the dried rosemary, the bottle of Elk blood, as you stuff them all into your linen satchel. Somewhere behind you, the click of his boots stops, and you can feel his searing gaze on the back of your neck.

“Were you not after someone to save you from your looming, impassive marriage?”

You freeze, fingers grasped around the edge of your book. Your gaze becomes a little unfocused, barely able to see the words on the page before you.

It didn’t matter now. You had tried many times to save yourself, and no mystical being or god or any of the Major Arcana had deemed you worthy enough to answer your calls.

You were not worthy of being helped, it seemed. You should have realised it from the beginning.

“Cherub?”

He repeats the name softly, tentatively, breaking you from your thoughts.

You shake your head, clearing the haze and stuffing the book into your satchel. Rising to your feet with a shake to your limbs, you sling the bag over your shoulder and begin toward the exit.

“Please make sure you lock the door when you leave,” you tell him.

Your hand is inches from the handle when he appears before you, blocking your escape. His hands are tucked behind his back, and his eyes—those _damned_ eyes—have changed their shade once more.

Amethyst, swirling with shadows as they take in your expression: the bags under your eyes, the twist of your lips, the tightness of your jaw. All the empty hollows inside of you that had been left by your pathetic fight, always doomed to fail.

“You called for help, yes?” He asks. His voice is so quiet, almost inscrutable. You nod. “Then allow me to help.”

You swallow, then immediately back track with a soft shake of your head. Your gaze drops away as you speak, a whisper you can barely force out.

“I can’t pay you,” you tell him. “Every offering I had was for—”

“We will figure out payment later. You wish to be free of this impending marriage. You wish to be happy. Free to choose?”

You hesitate. Of everything you have learned in all your time dealing with the Arcana, with all things magical and otherwise, one of the first was what to look for in the makings of a murky bargain.

No bargain without explicitly outlined payment was ever worth making. The payment could come at any time, and in any form, and more often than not the being in question was merely after a profit—the payment was always too steep for the reward.

And you’re about to shake your head and deny his offer. About to take the safer option; perhaps you can summon your patron Arcana after the vows, perhaps there is still a way out after you have been wed.

But…

Your eyes flicker up to his. They are a deeper amethyst now, no shadows, with flecks of wisteria. You are quickly coming to understand that each colour means something, and a strange part of you aches to know you might never understand exactly _what._

“Why?” You ask, finally breaking the silence.

You watch his expression shift again, some of the lightness clearing from his eyes as his brows pull down to cast shadows over them.

“Why what?”

“You said you intercept messages that pique your interest. Why was mine so interesting?”

The corners of his lips flicker up as he tilts his head at you, and you feel another flush coming to your cheeks, though this one is not angry. In your mind, you begin creating a list for the shade of his eyes: lilac, _amusement_.

“I said ‘sometimes’,” he corrects you softly. “And sometimes, when I don’t choose, the choice is made for me. The universe has been known to be more of a trickster than I, and this time…”

He trails off, his eyes dropping to your lips.

Wisteria: _lust_.

“…this time,” he murmurs. His eyes move back to yours. “It was less of a trick and more of a catastrophe.”

You swallow. He has come close, so close.

“A catastrophe?” You whisper.

He nods. One hand comes up to push the hair from your face, then dips down to trace your lips. You watch the movement, breath held in your throat.

“In that, I’m afraid that if you say no to my bargain,” he says. “I may just pretend I did not hear you, and whisk you away to your freedom anyway.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as he shifts forward, and you are enveloped in the scent of him. Lavender. Sage. The musk of incense, ones you’re sure you’ve been burning in your room since you could light a fire at your own fingertips.

A shiver envelopes your entire body when his lips make contact with your forehead. They linger there, warm and soft, with his hand cupping the back of your head.

“Please, cherub,” he murmurs against your heated skin. “Honour me by letting me take you away. You will only be with me for as long as you are happy.”

“And then?”

“And then I will take you to wherever you need to be to be happy still.”

Your eyes open as he pulls back to find him already staring down at you. A new colour, one that is so barely there you have to search for it.

But the answer comes to you after a moment, almost as easily as breathing. You can feel it swirling in your chest as it shifts, wisteria into orchid, and you know: _power_. A promise.

He will not force you into his bargain. But, should you say no, he will still watch over you. From his knees, he will still do whatever is necessary to keep you _you_ , to stop you from becoming suffocated and lifeless.

Nothing is beyond his power, and you are the being at its helm, allowed to direct it in any way you so need.

“I don’t even know your name,” you tell him. You receive a soft laugh in response, a twinkle to his gaze as it lightens.

“I am Asra.”

“Well then, Asra…I should like to make a bargain.”

“Mmmmm. I thought you might.”

He kisses your forehead once more, and then dips down a little lower to capture the tip of your nose. You crinkle it, and he laughs, and at the sound of it you quickly realise that the payment might not be the part of the bargain that undoes you.

“We will seal our bargain with a kiss,” he tells you. “Would you allow me to kiss you? Properly?”

You nod.

You loose a breath.

And then he kisses you.

And it’s the softest, the most glorious, his power and desire and affection wrapping themselves around your very soul as he cups the back of your head and swirls his tongue through your mouth.

You gasp against his lips, a hand to each of his wrists, as though that might steady you.

But the world still spins.

And your heart still sings.

And before he whisks you away in plumes of shadows to a better world, you add one final colour to the list in your mind.

Amethyst: _love_.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now protected and loved by a demon, you grow restless and ask to be taken along next time he is summoned. Never able to say no to you, Asra agrees - but your surprises continue, and who you meet with is the last person you might expect.

“So what exactly is your job title?”

“Apart from being divinely gorgeous and, when you’re naked, god?”

Your eyes roll hard enough to take your entire body with them, shifting in the sunlight toward the edge of the bed.

You don’t make it very far.

Something thin curls around your ankle, squeezing lightly, and is soon accompanied by something a little warmer and thicker around your waist.

And then your senses are enveloped with him, with lavender and sage and musk, as Asra—your sweet trickster, your wicked bargain maker—presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

You melt back against him, your exasperation dissolving all too quickly as his tail releases your ankle and begins stroking your bare calf.

“The only job title you need be concerned with,” he murmurs against your skin, a little damp from the heat of the morning sun. “Is the one where I belong to you, forever and always.”

“Oh, you _belong_ to me?”

And now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, or at least laugh against your back as he slowly makes his way down, pressing languid, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your spine.

You sigh and close your eyes, murmuring as he manoeuvres you to lay on your stomach. His kisses continue down until he reaches the small of your back, where he nuzzles against the curve.

“I have always belonged to you,” he murmurs there, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “Perhaps even before I laid eyes on you.”

As he moves back up your body and settles beside you, you keep your eyes closed, mind in deep thought.

You couldn’t count the days you had been here with him, in his home atop the mountain. You didn’t want to count them, and it seemed almost a waste of your newfound life to spare a thought to what you once had.

Here, now, atop the mountain in his open-air home with all the sunshine and moonlight and stars you could ever dream…here is where you are, and time will not take that from you.

His fingertips begin tracing patterns along your back, little bumps appearing in your flesh at the sensation. Something stirs in your gut at his touch, warm and all-too-familiar, begging you to move to touch him in return, or to reach back and move his hand to other, more intimate places.

That will have to wait, though. There is a more pressing issue, one that has been dancing in the forefront of your mind for a while now.

It takes you a few moments to gather the words, but when you finally speak them, they are every bit as firm as you need them to be.

“I want to know more.”

He hums quietly. “About?”

“You. The world.” You shift and roll onto your back, and immediately he settles above you, eyebrows pulled down into a curious frown as he awaits the rest of your words. “Will you take me with you next time you go?”

He did not leave too often, or at least he tried to only go when you were asleep. Where he went was anybody’s guess, though you certainly had your theories.

At your words, his eyes shift, a deep orchid you haven’t seen often but which you already know to mean he is worried.

“Are you no longer happy here?” He asks, barely above a whisper.

One hand curled against the back of his head, you pull him down to meet his lips, your movements as languid and soft as the kisses he had placed down your spine. You feel him melt against you and give a soft sigh, his worries quelled for the moment.

You pull back to meet his gaze, curling a strand of his hair around your finger as you speak.

“I’m still very happy here,” you answer, and truthfully. “But I want to share everything with you. _Everything._ ”

He doesn’t look away, though you can tell he desperately wants to.

“Most of the people I meet in my work are harmless,” he tells you. “But many are also not. I would hate to bring you along and have something happen.”

“Do you forget that I’m a powerful magician who managed to wrap a powerful bargainer around their little finger?”

His eyes spark at this, nose crinkling as he shakes his head.

“No,” he grins. “That, I could never forget, because it gets a little tighter every moment I breathe.”

“So you will take me? Next time you leave to make a bargain?”

His gaze shifts between your eyes, and you see—just for a moment—the orchid deepening a fraction more, bordering on a colour you have never seen before.

But it passes, clearing back to the amethyst that always glints there whenever he sees you. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, and then to each of your cheekbones, and then finally to your lips.

“Yes,” he murmurs there. “I will take you."

*

He wakes you in the middle of the night with a soft kiss to your bare back. You murmur and stir, almost too tired to be roused; no moment had been wasted last night when it came to you or your body.

Asra preferred being close to you in every sense of the word, above all other things, and more than once he had worked some of his own magic in with yours to ensure you both lasted long enough to sate his hunger.

It takes a few more kisses, but you do blink your eyes open, the world a little fuzzy as you stretch yourself out.

“Time to go, cherub,” he murmurs against your skin.

When you are fully awake and dressed, he takes your hand and takes your lips. You sigh into the kiss and almost forget where you are and whatever it is he wants, waking you so late in the night.

When he breaks the kiss and you open your eyes, you can see that you are no longer in his home atop the mountain, but instead a rather untidy and dishevelled office, in the middle of which stands a balding middle-aged man just a little shorter than yourself.

On the floor between his feet and where you are standing are a familiar set of symbols and lines, drawn in blood and scattered with lavender. A book has been dropped at his feet, and the tang of magic tingles at the tip of your tongue.

The man straightens himself with a hurried gasp, and his gaze goes between Asra and you and then back to Asra.

And then his face goes purple in rage.

“What took you so long!?” The man spits.

Asra’s head goes back and he laughs, a loud belly laugh that echoes throughout the room but is in no way mirthful. It causes your gut to twist, and the man’s face to pale at least fifteen shades.

“I-I-I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Asra grins, almost wickedly. “But you’re clearly under a lot of stress. Do not fret—all is forgiven, Ines.”

The man’s eyes widen. “How did you know my—?”

Asra’s eyes flash and he steps forward, eyeing the scene around him. Your gaze follows. It’s a mess of paperwork, books; someone has clearly been looking for something.

Asra hums thoughtfully. “What do we have here?”

“Someone has stolen a very important set of documents from me. I need them back. Right now”

“And I was your chosen demon to summon?” Asra cocks an eyebrow. “Do I look like the postal service?”

“I need the documents back and I need whoever stole them _dead._ ”

You still. Surely this man had misunderstood? Maybe the universe had done the same thing it had with you and thrown Asra here, it couldn’t be by choice.

But Asra’s face doesn’t shift, and he doesn’t balk at the implication of murder, he simply…looks around.

“You’ve built quite a fortune for yourself here, Ines.”

The man’s chest puffs, and a smug sort of curl comes to his lips.

“I can pay you anything you need,” he says.

“Oh, I don’t doubt. But you’ll find that I don’t deal in coin.”

Asra steps forward, his eyes already on the shelves around him, and much like the first time he found you, he begins to peruse them, fingering spines and peering closely at others.

As he walks slowly to the far end of the room, the man’s gaze falls away from him and to you. You shift on your feet, watching as his gaze shifts and darkens in a way that you definitely do not like.

“Eyes to ourselves, Ines,” Asra calls, much like scolding a toddler.

The man’s eyes flicker over you once more, then he turns to Asra, voice haughty and gruff.

“Are we doing this or not?” He asks

“Or not.”

There’s a pause. A long, pregnant silence, broken only when the man begins stuttering and Asra continues walking, as though he had just commented on the weather.

“What do you mean _or not_? I have money, I have—I have things, it’s your _job_ to make bargains—!”

“Actually…”

Asra’s hand falls away from the book he had been examining and he turns, but his gaze doesn’t go to the man—it goes to you.

And it’s crackling with power, a deep abyss of shadows that makes your pupils dilate in response.

“You’ll find,” Asra continues, sure and slow. “That my job title is more…trickster, than terminator. Although I prefer freelancer.”

Asra lifts his hand, and a sound like a whip cracks throughout the room as he clicks his fingers.

The man drops to his knees with a howl of pain, clutching his head as his body bows. Your jaw drops open, and you are frozen in place, watching as Asra steps up behind the man and leans in close, lips pressed almost right to his ear.

And when he speaks, when he murmurs, his gaze is still fixed entirely on you.

“Do you know who I’ve brought along with me today, Ines?”

The man moans and growls; you think he spits something out, and when he doesn’t give a proper answer, Asra clicks his fingers again, and the man drops onto his hands with another cry.

Asra straightens and tucks his hands behind his back, beginning to circle around the man.

“Allow me to tell you exactly who this is,” he says. “It has been exactly forty-three days since that _deal_ fell through, yes? The one relating to the paperwork you are so desperately seeking?”

The man is heaving and breathing a little too hard; you can see drops of sweat pouring off him, hitting the dark oak floor beneath his face.

“Answer me, Ines…”

The man spits and answers him, but it’s a string of foul curses that make Asra’s nose curl. He lifts a hand, and the man begins whimpering, hand clutching at his opposite wrist.

“Answer me or I snap it.”

“Y-yes…”

“Yes what, _Ines?_ ”

“Yes, the paperwork was for the deal!”

“And pray tell, what kind of deal was it? Certainly not your usual kind involving importing slaves from the continent.”

The man spits again, and then a loud crack sounds through the room.

He crumples, and you see his left wrist is bent at an unnatural angle. Now, he’s merely a ball on the floor, whimpering and crying, his tears joining his sweat as it runs down his face in rivulets.

Asra grins.

“The great news about this is that you have _two_ of those, as well as two ankles, and a very small—”

“It was a contract!” Ines spits out; every second breath is a high-pitched wheeze, his pupils are pinpricks. “A—a contract with a family in the next city over. They needed money, my eldest needed a spouse—”

“So you decided to do an exchange? Money for a partner?”

The man nods and tries to curl in on himself a little more, but Asra doesn’t even seem to care about him anymore, his lip curled in disgust as he eyes him over.

“And it fell through,” Asra continues. “Didn’t it? You had already handed over the money, but when the morning came the partner you had paid for was nowhere to be found. What a shame.”

“I upheld my end of the contract! I gave my money, it’s not my fault that insolent brat ran away—”

Another howl.

Now both of his wrists are at odd angles, but you hardly notice.

Your blood is rushing in your ears, a howl that easily overpowers his own. Your heart is in your throat, and you can feel the tips of your fingers shaking, even as you twist them around your clothes to try and stop it.

Everything is a little out of focus as Asra bends down and yanks the man up by his hair, head twisted back to reveal his quivering Adam’s apple.

“Tell me, Ines…did you ever set eyes on the one you were set to marry off to your eldest child? Or was it simply all a deal to you?”

The man doesn’t answer, but it seems Asra doesn’t need him to. You’re terrified that maybe you don’t need him to, either.

Asra leans down and eyes the man over, his gaze lingering right at the pulse of his jugular.

“You will tell me,” he murmurs quietly. “If you want to keep your blood in your veins and your cock on your body, tell me…what was the name of the person you were being sold?”

The man inhales, those same little high-pitched wheezes as he whimpers and moans. But when Asra’s hand begins to reach around to the front of his body, the man seizes and begins to struggle.

 _“No no no no no—no—_ I’ll tell you, I’ll give you the name!”

And then he does.

And it’s yours.

*

The world is ringing around you as Asra drops the man to the floor, his body hitting with a dull thud.

You stand there, unblinking, unbreathing, as your own name rings in your ears.

This…this was the man who was so ready to pay a handsome fee for you, to sell you off to his eldest in hopes of producing heirs and continuing his legacy. With no though to you, or your wishes, or how you had met his eldest once and had never been acknowledged or looked in the eye.

This man, this whimpering, pathetic sack of _shit_ trying to crawl away in front of you, was the reason you had nearly lost yourself.

“Cherub?”

You blink, and your gaze flickers up to Asra.

He is watching you, that same intensity lingering in the back of his gaze, and you decide this is one colour you do not want to add to your list.

But there is something else there, something for you to hold onto: amethyst.

Right here and now, there is nothing else in the world except for you.

“I’m fine,” you whisper.

And, strangely enough, you think you mean it.

Your gaze drops to the man, still trying to crawl on his two broken wrists.

“This is the man?” You ask. “The one who bought me off my family?”

“This is he.”

You nod. You don’t really know what to do with that information.

Asra takes a single, slow step toward you, then reaches out to slide his hand along the side of your neck.

You reach up to take his wrist, and find your heart slowing a little at the small comfort of his steady pulse.

“Say the word,” he whispers to you. “Say the word and I’ll hang him from his entrails.”

You blink. Your gaze moves to the man; he has given up on his crawling, and now he’s sort of hunched in the corner trying to disappear from the universe.

He doesn’t even seem to realise anyone else is there anymore.

“You said he has money?” You ask. Asra nods. “And…and slaves, he keeps slaves?”

Asra nods again.

And you already know your answer, can feel it in the back of your throat, so sure that you don’t even need to pause before you give it.

Your voice is louder, purposefully so; you want the pathetic excuse for a human being, the one who tried to buy you and take your freedom away and give you like a prize, to beg and crawl and plead for his life.

But not to stay alive—for the life he once had. The life he _would_ have had, when your bargainer was through with him.

“I want it gone,” you say. “All of it. Not a coin left, and all of his slaves freed, and none of his family or friends to love him any longer.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Asra’s lips flick up, a dry and wretched smile that only spurs you on. You continue a little louder.

“I want him to grovel at the feet of every god and Arcana and deity he can find, and for none of them to give it back. I want him to grow old and watch as the world forgets him. I want him to suffer the same inescapable torment as he wished to bestow upon me.”

Asra breathes out, then leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

“Anything else, cherub?” He asks. He’s not even trying to hide the delighted lilt in his voice.

“Yeah,” you say, taking the last of your boldness and throwing it to the sky. “I want it so his dick never works again.”

Asra lets out a barking laugh, one that is warm and loving and that fills every space of the room and every space in your heart. You turn your gaze to him, a matching wicked grin and glint to your eye as he shakes his head at you.

He leans in to capture your lips in a kiss, a single one, soft and simple, before pulling away and turning to the man.

“As you wish, cherub.”

And then he descends on his prey.


End file.
